Small Mercies
by toLAZYtosignin
Summary: Would you imagine that? Turns out one Mycroft Holmes IS lonely... A/O/B. Family and platonic feels with a side of angst.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings/Notes:

Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics

Vague Rape/NonCon elements (hinted to have happened before the story even begins)

Mpreg

No pairings

Hurt/comfort

Wrote this on my phone late at night

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The man's final mistake was forgetting about the umbrella, now a blade buried deep into the left side of his chest.

What a mess.

Mycroft had been mindful not to run his assailant completely through, and yet his efforts were all for not… as the man had collapsed on his side instead of his back. A steady dribble of blood still managed to stain the once pristine carpet beneath the lifeless body.

Quite unfortunate.

He had been hoping to avoid calling in a cleanup crew. The last thing he needs are the curious eyes of people trained to see each and every little detail of a crime scene.

But alas, he is hardly fit to remove the body himself in his current condition. With the fading rush of adrenaline, standing would become an issue soon enough. So, calling in for clean up is an inevitability.

The trembling man turns away from the limp body in favor of the stairs leading up to his room.

If it takes an hour for Mycroft to steady himself, there's no one there to complain. If it takes him a second hour to wipe clean and adjust the dead body, it's not like it is anyone's business but his own. If it takes a third and fourth hour to ventilate and clear any scents/smells from his home, he hardly notices the time go by. If he waits a couple hours more to freshen up before calling Anthea, she may have questions, but he knows she won't ask a single one of them…

Not even as she oversees the cleanup of an obviously altered crime scene. Nor how her boss leans just a bit too heavily against his recently cleaned and reassembled umbrella as he tells her to clear his schedule for tomorrow and the following day.

* * *

The very day Rosemond could walk confidently without aid, John found himself frequenting the park at Sherlock's insistence. The alpha saying it's for her health, letting her work all her growing toddler muscles as she scurries about a play-set.

The doctor simply nods along and sneaks plenty of pictures of "the world's greatest detective" as he trails after the girl and helps her up onto a swing. John would have to transfer most to his laptop soon before his cell runs out of storage.

…It's strange, his and Sherlock's relationship.

The beta can't imagine a life without his best friend. It's probably why he chose to move back in with the man after Mary's passing.

And while at first he had been hesitant, Sherlock proved to be ready for change and immediately had his lab equipment and an extra fridge moved into the lower suite Mrs. Hudson gave up on trying to rent out. All chemicals and body parts were tucked safely away downstairs, so the dinning table upstairs was clear and ready for family meals.

A gleeful squeal is the only warning John gets before his little girl crashes into his legs.

"He's gonna get me!" Rosie smiles, gripping the beta's pants.

With a false worry he asks, "Who is?" despite the large smile stretching his lips.

"Unca' Lock!"

"Uncle Sherlock, you say?" John scoops up his daughter and kisses her forehead. "But I got you first!"

The park echoes with the toddler's giggles as he holds her closer.

Turning to his flatmate, he's surprised to see Sherlock a good ways away, having thought the man would be right beside him…. The detective has a phone to his ear and is pacing. Not that pacing means much when it comes to Sherlock. The man would pace if the person on the line was simply speaking too slow.

That doesn't stop John from asking if everything's alright when the detective is finally finished.

"A case!" Sherlock grinned, "New body found with a possible link to a murder last month. Let's go."

The beta sighs and shakes his head.

"Can't… There's no one to watch Rosie, and I refuse to take her to a crime scene."

Oh… but he really does want to go. It's been a while since Sherlock had a decent case-

"Mycroft can watch her. He's close enough." The taller man offers as if it were a completely normal thing to suggest.

Yes, since the two flatmates chose one of the nicer parks to visit, they are only a few blocks away from the elder Holmes's neighborhood… However, they've hardly seen and/or spoke with the man since Sherringfold…. Much less asked Mycroft to babysit Rosie before.

"He's not busy?" John murmurs, caught between wanting the case and not bothering his best friend's brother.

Sherlock is already trying to hail a cab.

"Might have a few reports to read through and such, but he'll be home and that's what matters." The detective assures. "And it's only for a little while."

Bugger it all.

John wants to go – needs to – after so long. He deserves a good adrenaline kick, and he has nothing to worry about leaving his girl in one of the most secured houses in all of London. Worst case scenario, Mycroft bores Rosie to death.

"Ready to meet your uncle Mycroft?" he whispers to his daughter, following after Sherlock.

* * *

He doesn't know what to say, nor does he get the chance before his younger brother deposits a toddler into his arms. Sherlock gives a brief explanation, talking over Watson's attempts to speak politely, and then drags the doctor away towards a waiting cab…. Leaving Mycroft with John's child.

She's a tiny little thing, and seems to be at just as much of a loss as he feels, the two of them watching the taxi drive away and out of sight. She presses one of her tiny fingers across her pouting lip, glancing between the direction her dad left and the man holding her.

"Unca' Croft?" she says hesitantly.

Mycroft feels his heart leap and a small smile involuntarily tug at his lips. He's only seen Rosie a couple of times in person when she was an infant, and yet John (cause it definitely wasn't Sherlock) had told her to refer to him as uncle.

He adjusts the way he's holding her to something more comfortable and shuts the front door.

* * *

The case was short, yet exhilarating. They even got to go on a bit of a chase. Sadly, this case wouldn't be there to look forwards to tomorrow, but it's fine. John has a daughter that takes priority.

It's late, so the shorter man doesn't comment when his companion opts to pick the lock to Mycroft's home instead of ringing the doorbell. The sound could potentially wake Rosie up and if she's asleep, it's best to try and keep her that way. She can get real grumpy otherwise.

John notes that it takes Sherlock a minute longer than normal because his brother has apparently upgraded the locks since they last met (probably in response to a certain clown incident).

The pair tread lightly, passing the kitchen (which smells oddly of fresh baked goods that are nowhere to be seen) and spot a sliver of light coming from the door to Mycroft's study. They inch closer before Sherlock stills John with a steady hand. The elder Holmes's voice can be heard along with familiar laughter.

John leans in and is greeted by the sight of Mycroft seated on the floor with his back to a chair and Rosie reclined comfortably against his chest. He's holding a rather thick book out where he can easily see above her head and she can touch the pages. It must have pictures cause she points somewhere on a page.

"He looks funny!" she exclaims, poking the book multiple time for emphasis.

"Indeed."

John has to blink a few times to be sure that it is Mycroft that's sitting there. The auburn haired man's voice was uncharacteristically….. warm. The last word the doctor would ever have thought to associate with the iceman of all people. Yet there he is.

"And what would you name him?" Mycroft encourages, sounding every bit interested in her answer.

"Princess! Cause he has a crown."

Fully expecting the government official to correct Rosie in some way or another (like explaining that a man should be called a prince not princess) John is once again surprised when the man compliments her choice instead.

"Excellent, Rosamund." Mycroft's smile looks surprisingly genuine. "And he does have a crown. You are quite observant. Aren't you?"

The doctor has to take a step back and process everything he just saw.

The man that often had ominous black cars snatch people up for whatever reason and take them obscure places…. The man who could only say Rosie looked fully functioning as an infant… Now looked so at ease, content even, indulging a toddler he hardly new.

John looks to his friend who is studying the scene with mild interest. The beta is about to whisper something, however, Sherlock chooses that exact moment to make their presence known. He pushes the door fully ajar and strides inside as if he hadn't been eavesdropping mere moments before.

Mycroft's light expression immediately shifts into a more familiar wary one. John can't help but frown at the sudden change.

* * *

The whole ride home, all Rosie could talk about was the great things her and "unca' Croft" did together. Her list was surprisingly extensive.

From a tour of the house, baking pastries, a tea party (John would pay to have seen that), eating take away, listening to him play the piano, to scrutinizing old artworks scattered throughout an art history book.

By the time they arrive at Baker Street, the girl's voice trails off and her eyelids droop. It's a bit past her bedtime and all her excitement must have finally taken its toll and worn her out. She's asleep in her father's arms before they even make it up the stairs to their flat. So, putting her to bed is the easiest it's ever been.

John tucks Rosie in and quietly walks out to find Sherlock. The detective is seated on the couch and scrolling through emails.

Hmm…

"Earlier, you didn't seem surprised." The beta says.

Sherlock doesn't bother to look up from the screen and huffs, "Of course not. No omega, not even brother dearest, can resist a child as endearing as yours."

Suddenly the world seems to tilt and the doctor sputters, "Mycroft's a what?"

"Oh, John. You do know I hate repeating myself."

* * *

Notes: I just really enjoy it when powerful characters are depicted as omegas.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes:

Here's a late disclaimer for the entire story. I own nothing.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

He lets his hand drift up to rest against his stomach, feeling for what's there but currently undetectable.

Maybe this would be a good thing?

Most of the building stress had left after Mycroft allotted himself to get swept away in taking care of Rosie. Her curious eyes were great pools of wonder and innocence, reminding the man of a young Sherlock. Too young to be burdened by the world and its endless… terrors.

A shiver works up his spine and the omega now has both arms wrapped around his middle.

He hopes he can see Rosie again. She helped him forget that night… And maybe she could do it again, as well as turn his mind to the brighter things. Children had a real gift for dragging others along as their minds got lost in the clouds, and Watson's little girl was an expert.

* * *

A new case is brought to them via a walk-in client, neatly wrapped in contradictory (yet verifiable) details with a side of necessitated snooping.

John doesn't even bother to ask Mrs. Hudson or Molly Hooper for help. Instead, he finds himself on the phone calling the British Government.

"Yes, Doctor Watson?"

"I was wondering…." Wait.

What time was it? Surely Mycroft would be in his office working right now.

"You were wondering, Doctor?" Holmes presses with obvious irritation, and John is beginning to think he imagined that night. Imagined the man's smile.

"Well, I was wondering if you could watch Rosie today, but-"

"Of course. How soon would I need to pick her up, or will you be dropping her off?"

Mycroft's voice could only be described as being calm yet eager. Any regrets about calling the government official vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.

"As soon as is convenient." The blond man smiles before adding, "She hasn't stopped talking about how great her time with uncle Mycroft was, and I'm beginning to think its making Sherlock a bit jealous."

A pleased hum can be heard and John can just imagine the smirk Mycroft was no doubt wearing.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

Rosie going to visit Mycroft had quickly become a common occurrence. She would be over at least once a week (more if there was a really good case) or the elder Holmes would find an excuse to drop by their flat to say hello.

Today, Sherlock had wandered off without warning (a habit John is still trying to correct) and so the doctor found himself heading to Mycroft's for tea to pass the time. Rosie, of course, is tagging along.

John sets his little girl down and straightens his clothes before knocking. The elder man always managed to make the beta feel underdressed, no matter the occasion.

A muffled "come in" calls out, and the doctor opens the door. Rosie, ever so energetic, bolts inside.

Mycroft has only just enough time to set down a tea tray before a flash of panic fills the omega's eyes and he catches the toddler by her shoulders before she can launch herself against him.

"Careful, Rosamund." He says, "My stomach is a bit… sensitive.. at the moment."

"Are you alright?" John frowns.

The Holmes keeps his eyes on Rosie, patting her head in place of an apology, and avoids the other man's concerned expression.

"Negotiations with foreign dignitaries, Doctor Watson." He begins, gesturing for his guest to take a seat. "They tend to be as stressful as they are tedious and upset my stomach."

John settles himself into the chair across from Mycroft and nods.

"Haven't we known each other long enough to be on a first name basis?"

"I suppose, John. However, you know what they say about old habits."

Indeed he does. Especially since it seems to apply to both the Holmes brothers more than other people. They are just too proud and stubborn for their own good.

"Oh. Almost forgot." The omega grabs a book resting on the coffee table beside the tea tray and offers it to Rosie. "Name them for me, will you?"

Before the doctor can think to voice his confusion, his daughter plops down on the floor and proceeds to name every illustrated character within the pages (in a similar manner to her first visit). Every so often she'll ask Mycroft or her daddy for suggestions, only to shake her head and name them something else entirely.

It's odd. It's fun. And it never fails to prompt a genuine smile from the supposed iceman.

* * *

Sixteen weeks in, and all are none the wiser. Not even a glance is spared to the few pounds added to his midsection, as his weight has always been in a constant flux.

But soon it will become just a little too pronounced, and Mycroft needs to get away from it all.

"Anthea." He says without looking up from the files on his desk, "Is Mr. Talbert's invitation still viable?"

The woman blinks at him.

"Last I checked, the invitation is indefinite." She answers dutifully before letting herself frown. "You said it yourself. It's a tedious job with few if any benefits in too long a timeframe."

"Seven months to be exact."

Anthea eyes her boss wearily, similar to the look she gave him the night they pulled a body from his house. But this time… she won't stay silent.

"Why now?" she asks.

Finally, a set of cold, icy-grey eyes shift to meet her gaze. Not a hint of emotion there for her to scrutinize.

It still sends a chill down her spine. She will never get used to it. Often enough that look has her believing the man to be truly heartless, despite everything he's done for the betterment of his country and younger brother.

"There are no pressing matters at the moment that require my physical presence. I can do most of my work from a computer, no matter where I may be. And…" he pauses, followed with a deep sigh. "I would like some time to myself."

Suddenly, the man before her looks tired and that's frightening. To see a blatantly open emotion from her superior is a reason to be cautious.

Her desire to press for answers is gone, so she simply nods.

"When will you be leaving, sir?"

"Thursday. Next week."

* * *

Twice now has Mycroft declined the request to watch over his daughter, and John can't help but feel worried.

On one hand, even Sherlock admits that everything seems to be too quiet in London to hint at any serious scheme in need of his brother's full attention. On the other, Mycroft had mentioned work being stressful and tedious during the last time him and the doctor spoke face to face.

Sigh.

John is stuck at the house with his pouting baby girl while Sherlock is off on a case.

Rosie hates going too long without seeing one of her honorary uncles, so the weekly trips to Mycroft's had become key in keeping all three occupants of their flat content.

The two friends could go off and solve a case, while the toddler was distracted by the elder Holmes, and then all three would return home satisfied and without fuss. It's the perfect solution in preserving the doctor's sanity when living with a genius, alpha man-child and an actual toddler.

So, against his better judgement, the beta finds himself once again dialing a certain government official.

"Yes, Doctor-" Mycroft catches himself and corrects it. "John."

"Hey, I um… I just wanted to check in."

Check into what? The blond man isn't sure, but (thankfully) he doesn't get the chance to specify.

Mycroft sighs, "Unfortunately, the majority of my time is still occupied by work."

And he must be dealing with more stress than John originally believed. The man sounds miserable and exhausted, and it takes a great deal of resolve to avoid commenting on it.

"Right, of course. I don't mean to distract you from saving the world and whatnot." The beta pauses, turning to glance at his little girl. "But if you could call once things calm down, Rosie would-"

"Actually…"

And John had thought Mycroft couldn't sound any worse.

"Yes?" he prompts.

"I won't be available for quite some time, as I am scheduled to leave on an extended business trip out of country this Thursday."

"Oh… How long?"

"Approximately seven months."

Seven months?! Rosie would be so much bigger by then. Seven whole months? She'd be almost old enough to begin public schooling!

"Could you at least stop by to see Rosie before you leave? She'll be wanting to say goodbye… Please?"

* * *

He really shouldn't chance it. A run in with Sherlock is the last thing he needs. Mycroft checked to make sure his brother was elsewhere before arriving, but…. There's still a chance he'll return.

Not to mention that John is a doctor for heaven's sake. The beta is just as much of a risk, considering Mycroft's slip up the last time they met.

The hum of a car window sliding down draws the government official's attention to his driver's questioning gaze… More than questioning, he's worried. His boss has been standing outside 221b for too long, so it's understandable.

No… wait.

His driver is shifting slightly as if reaching for his gun, tucked away beneath his seat. It's Mycroft's only warning before a strong hand grips his shoulder and the barrel of a silencer presses between his shoulder blades. His driver stills.

"Evening Mr Holmes." Says a gruff voice, its owner forcing him to walk towards the vehicle with a hearty push. "We'll take yer car."

The pressure on his back is gone and a gun peaks into view, aimed at the driver. Mycroft has to look away as the trigger clicks and a wave of nausea threatens his balance. His knees buckle hearing his employee's body slump against the wheel, the stranger's firm grip the only thing keeping him upright.

Mycroft is shoved into the passenger seat while his captor strips him of his phone and umbrella. The divider separating the front from the back is lowered, and the two objects are tossed back…. Along with the body.

Another wave of nausea hits, blurring the auburn's vision momentarily at the sight.

"Never would have thought of ya to be the squeamish sort."

The stranger is a large fellow (absolutely reeks of alpha and cheap cigarettes) but not much taller than Mycroft. He turns giving the government official a good view of his face. Stained and crooked teeth flash as a face-splitting grin stretches the man's sharp features.

"Not to worry. Just a short drive before we switch cars." The alpha assures. "You're about to make me a wealthy man."

* * *

Notes: Enjoying the ride? Yay or nay?


	3. Chapter 3

Notes:

Lots of implied stuff in this chapter. Hope it's not too confusing.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

John had put on a pot of tea in advance. It now sits cold and untouched on the stovetop.

His little girl had fallen into a fitful sleep, having been upset she didn't get to see the uncle she was told would be visiting. She'd even drawn the elder Holmes a picture as a parting gift.

It now sits rumpled in her tiny hands, waiting for someone who seems less likely to show with each passing minute.

The beta can't help but feel disappointed.

Not that he should….

Maybe Mycroft had a work emergency? That's it. He's probably off stopping world war III, and John will just have to call him tomorrow.

* * *

The room he's stashed away in is cramped and stuffy with a weathered cushion on the floor trying (and failing) to function as a mattress.

It might have been bearable… Except for one tiny little detail.

His captor is a professional smuggler, gun for hire, paid informant for many undesirable groups, as well as a greed driven man with few inhibitions. A weasel of a person willing to jump head first and risk it all before thinking the consequences of failure through.

But more than that... He looks far too similar to a body Mycroft had removed from his home nearly four months ago.

Coincidence? Never.

"Was it your brother? Or cousin?"

It's the first time Mycroft has said anything to the alpha. The words almost hurt to speak because his throat feels too tight and he's fighting back the urge to wrap his arms around his waist protectively.

"Cousin." His captor sighs, "Stupid Anthony couldn't just follow through with the plan. It's a miracle he didn't kick the bucket sooner."

The alpha's voice is harsh and… oily. It may have been soothing once, but years of heavy smoking has tainted it just as much as it has his teeth.

"Honestly, Mr Holmes, ya did me a favor by killing him. Now I won't have to share the money." He chuckles, moving to the door. "Just how much do ya think the key to the entire bloody British government is worth?"

The door shuts and a lock clicks, punctuating the rhetorical query.

* * *

When the detective finally finished his case, he had been expecting to see his flatmate happily engaged in some activity or another with his child. Instead he is greeted with a halfhearted 'hello' and Rosie pouting in John's lap.

The toddler turns to see just who her father greeted, a glimmer of hope in her eyes that vanishes upon recognizing Sherlock.

"He's not coming." She huffs, wriggling off of John's lap to tug at the detective's coat. "Unca' Lock? You find people? Can you find him?"

Sherlock gently pats the girl's head. A tinge of alpha instinct has the man itching to punish whoever it is upsetting the child, and he has a pretty good idea who it may be.

"Mycroft?" the detective asks.

Rosie nods.

"I called him yesterday." John sighs, rubbing the back of his head. "He said work had him going out of country for seven months starting Thursday. I asked if he would see Rosie one last time before he left."

"And he agreed to?"

"Yes."

"You were expecting him last night."

"Only time he said he could drop by."

"And, I take it, he did not call or text you an excuse explaining his absence?"

"No."

Hmm…

"That can't be right." Sherlock mutters, "Mycroft is too dignified to promise something and not follow it through… Unless there was an emergency, but even then he would have left you a message-"

The detective's phone rings. He hangs up without checking the caller ID and continues.

"-And this business trip of his! Seven months? Unlikely. My brother loathes footwork."

It rings a second time. Sherlock tosses his phone across the room onto his chair, intent on ignoring the blasted device.

"I wonder which country. Most business trips secure enough for government officials as highly ranked as Mycroft to frequent are for France or the US… Definitely the-"

Now John's phone is ringing and, unlike his best friend, he has manners.

He answers to hear a familiar voice.

"Doctor Watson, please hand the phone to Sherlock – or better yet – put me on speaker." The usually prim PA sounded positively livid.

John turned his phone to speaker and asked, "Anthea? Is everything alright?"

"He's ignored my calls and obviously hasn't read a single text I've sent him for nearly an hour now."

"I was wrapping up a case." Sherlock grumbles, rolling his eyes back drastically. "Whatever my dear brother-"

"Your brother is missing, Mr Holmes! He didn't come in to the office today, so we tracked his phone. It lead us to an ally where we found his limo along with his personal driver dead in the back seat!"

Rosie's eyes go wide and John quickly switches off speaker mode to shove the phone up to Sherlock's ear. He then scoops up his daughter and marches dutifully out of the room to keep the toddler from hearing anything else.

* * *

Despite what the man's obvious preference for cheap cigarettes would suggest, he had plenty of money to his name. Most people do when they are a seasoned expert in navigating the black market.

An inexperienced seller would have tried to dump their contraband on the first person to offer a decent price.

An expert would wait. Let word spread to his target audience and give them time to consider the benefits of obtaining the proffered item. Then, he'd set a date to auction said item, forcing buyers to offer up larger sums of money (out of desperation, need, and competition) than they originally intended.

Time is his captor's greatest ally.

Time is Mycroft's greatest foe…. or any omega lacking their suppressants, really.

He's not under threat of entering a heat cycle. However, the suppressants also serve as a scent-blocking agent, neutralizing the sweet tones brought about by omega pheromones.

Mycroft has kept still, tucked into the corner furthest from the door, trying to avoid stirring the air.

When his captor stops by to offer him another meal, it's immediately apparent that his efforts are all for not.

The alpha hesitates, dropping a bowl of some unidentifiable stew on the floor. His nostrils flare and pupils expand. A deep growl fills the room.

The alpha pulls Mycroft up to his feet and pins him against the wall.

"Omega." He purrs, cupping the auburn's jaw and tilting Mycroft's head to expose his neck, "Unbonded as well."

Holmes wants to yell when his body begins to tremble. He can feel his thoughts blurring as his instincts and body try to take over and protect itself by submitting in hopes of avoiding punishment.

Too bad.

Mycroft's body may continue to shake, yet he refuses to avert his eyes or curl in on himself or expose his neck further. Instead, he fixes the alpha with a well practiced glare.

"Now it all makes sense! I never could trust Anthony to help snatch our omega targets. The guy was insatiable." The alpha laughs. "Seems he even managed to up yer price before he died, that cheeky bastard!"

The large man moves to place his hand on the omega's stomach only for Mycroft to swat at the offending appendage. This startles another growl from his captor, but it quickly dissolves into an amused hum.

"Yer reputation alone makes ya worth a fortune. The fact that you're an omega, an unbonded omega…. That means you're controllable and worth nearly double." The alpha all but drools hearing himself voice this little revelation of his out loud.

It's disgusting.

And it's enough of a distraction for the government official to steady his shivering limbs and sneer.

"I think you and your clients will find that I lack the desired submissive traits of a common omega."

"Obviously, but my clients don't have to know that till they've already paid up." The alpha chuckles, mouth pulled into an oily smirk. "And even so, you'd do anything to protect yer child, wouldn't ya?"

* * *

He was the younger brother. The irresponsible one (no matter what mummy said after Sherringfold) who would be behind bars or dead if it were not for his elder brother acting the over-protective mother hen.

Never had Sherlock had to play the typical role of alpha protecting a family omega. A part of him recoils, insisting that he should have been doing so ever since Eurus toyed with their lives... Then maybe this would have never happened.

Sherlock hates the feeling.

"Mycroft is undeniably Britain's most indispensable asset and you expect me to believe that THESE-" the detective holds up a thick stack of papers. "These are your surveillance protocols?!"

Anthea grabs the papers with a huff.

"Your bother wrote these himself, Mr Holmes."

Nothing was adding up. The surveillance on 221b is excellent, and yet there is hardly any on Mycroft's house, let alone his street. It's as if he's trying to….

"How old are these protocols?" Sherlock asks, trying to keep his voice even.

A sudden grimace mars the PA's fine features. She then glances over her shoulder to check and see if anyone else is nearby.

"Quite new, in fact." the woman drops her voice to a soft whisper. "There was an…. incident... just four months ago. Mycroft called to have a body removed from his house."

"You're being awfully vague. Seems he explained very little to you about said incident." The detective grumbles.

His inner alpha seeths learning of yet another moment his brother was in trouble and he failed to even notice. It was nearly four months ago Sherlock had convinced John to hand Rosie over to Mycroft for the day. If he'd just been paying attention and not in a hurry to rush to a case, he might have been able to deduce something concerning the matter…

"Understand that he is my employer, Mr Holmes." Despite being an alpha herself, Anthea was managing to keep some semblance of professionalism (probably why Mycroft hired her). While irritation colored her voice, it remained a whisper. "It was not my place to ask."

"What did he tell you?"

"He had returned home from work and was attacked right as he opened the front door. Mycroft managed to kill the other man first."

Vague indeed.

"And?" The detective gestures for her to continue. "Your thoughts? Personal findings?"

"Your brother waited a couple hours before calling me and the crime scene was definitely altered… The only real cleanup required was removing the body and a single bloodstain on the carpet. The body itself had been wiped clean and the whole house smelled of air fresheners and windows were left open."

"So, in summary, Mycroft is attacked in his own home, but instead of increasing surveillance there as a precaution, he reduces it." There really is only one explanation for that kind of behavior. "He must be hiding something."

Something he wants to keep from his own employees and no doubt everyone else.

"He would never betray-"

"Certainly not." Sherlock quickly dismisses the notion with a simple wave and changes the subject. "John told me Mycroft had been planning to visit Monday evening, yet never showed. He must have gone missing shortly after that call… Check the camera footage of everything spanning between his office, home, and Baker Street."

Anthea nods. "Right away, sir."

"And bring me everything you have on the previous attack. It could be linked to his current disappearance."

* * *

Apparently his old cell is suddenly inhumane, where it had fine been just yesturday.

However, he's no longer just an information vessel. Many of his potential buyers would be considering a bond, whether they do it themselves or by proxy though a loyal alpha. So, he needed to actually look decent.

His captor (still frustratingly careful not to reveal his name) brought him to a room with a plush couch, a real bed, some chairs, and a metal table bolted the floor. On the bed was a clean suit, that Mycroft grudgingly changed into given he'd been wearing his own for nearly a week now.

The clean clothes were only a minor comfort, as the cloth was cheap, the shirt didn't fit right, and the suit was only a two piece lacking a vest. Not to mention it failed to subdue his scent.

Because his captor wanted to be sure the smell of unbonded/pregnant omega was undeniable, Mycroft was not given the privilege to take a shower.

Now he sits on the couch with a chain attached to his ankle and the bolted table, blindfolded while interested peoples come to inspect the omega and see his unmarked neck for themselves. At least his captor never lets them get too close, careful none of the clients get desperate enough to try to force a bond right here and now.

'Small mercies.' Mycroft thinks bitterly.

Which does not include the involuntary shiver every time a new client is shuffled into the room and his captor tilts his head this way and that.

He feels exposed…. Unable to see, but able to be seen.

A large hand cards through his hair almost affectionately.

"They all look so promising." His captor croons. "They could all afford your tastes, if they wanted to."

* * *

Notes: I didn't expect this story to go so far.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes:

This is probably the last chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The day of his auction arrives.

He knows because he's finally given access to a shower and given his own suit back freshly cleaned. After all, they want him to look his best whilst they throw prices about, competing for his body and mind.

Mycroft takes his time, scrubbing at his skin till it's nearly raw. Over a week's worth of grime is finally being washed free and it's just another small mercy before his life becomes a living hell…

And he blames himself for it. He shouldn't have been overly cautious towards his own people, even if the majority of them don't yet know that he's an omega. Should have kept up his security instead of decreasing it so drastically.

His people have no doubt found the footage of him being snagged in front of 221b. However, if the surveillance on his house and street had been up to par, they might have spotted people spying on him long before any of this could have happened.

Now they will be too late…. Mycroft is to be sold and most likely bonded today.

If the government official sheds a few tears, they're dry before he's finished getting dressed. Long before anyone else can see them.

* * *

The room is absolutely packed from what he can hear. Far more than those who had visited his cell earlier.

A blindfold once again impairs his vision as he is lead to a seat up on some stage, no doubt, where he'll be visible to all their greedy eyes.

It's suffocating.

"Now, while many of ya were able to inspect him in person," the familiar voice of his captor says into a microphone, "We'll be conducting a blood test right here and now, just to be on the safe side."

Uughh.

They choose to draw blood from his wrist (so it's slower than it could have been) instead of bothering to roll up one of his sleeves.

Meanwhile, the alpha keeps on talking.

"As many of ya know, I used to be an informant for Magnusson. Under him, I learned a great deal about the inner workings of the British government, which led me to discovering a man who most knew only by rumor. A man so smart and keen and behind many of you present individual's business failures within Britain-"

A soft beep can be heard and the room goes silent. The result of the blood test is probably on display.

"Now let us begin! Which of ya is willing to give me five hundred thousand pounds for Mycroft Holmes?"

…And the bids take off.

Mycroft tries to ignore it all, taking multiple failed attempts at entering his mind palace and staying there. Anything to keep out the noise.

When it is apparent that won't work, his mind turns to things purely sentimental…

He will miss Sherlock dearly, even if the feeling is not reciprocated. Anthea as well. He'd never had a better suited PA that could keep up in a conversation. Maybe Doctor Watson too? John can be surprisingly bright where his brother is lacking…. And Rosamund. He will definitely miss darling little Rosamund-

A door is suddenly flung open hard enough to bounce off the wall and echo throughout the entire room. Once again, everyone is silent.

"Technology has never been greater and yet you chose to all gather here, in person, instead of holding the auction online?"

Mycroft holds his breath hoping his distressed mind is not just making up voices.

"Well, your mistake, not mine." Someone sounding quite like his younger brother admonishes. "We have the building surrounded, so do be reasonable and come quietly."

The room breaks into utter chaos.

* * *

The room is swarmed with agents chasing after every kind of undesirable person imaginable, all conveniently trapped in a single room.

'Tying loose ends has never been so easy.' Sherlock thinks, dodging thrashing bodies and armed agents.

And he should know. It took him two years to dismantle Moriarty's web. Most of those in on or knowledgeable of his brother's disappearance were currently present and being detained.

The younger Holmes leaps up onto the stage, intent on dragging Mycroft out of this dump and straight to Dr Watson, or whoever the omega's personal physician may be, to get looked over. Then enjoy getting to chastise Mycroft of all people about security.

Sherlock is greeted to the sight of his elder brother being held as human shield against the man who had been coordinating the bids just moments ago. His large hand is wrapped around the auburn's head, pulling to expose the omega's neck as if to threaten forcing a bond if Sherlock were to take another step forwards. Given the frenzied look in his eyes, he might just be serious.

Mycroft's blindfold has been pulled askew and one eye is uncovered and locked onto his younger brother. It's enough for a brief, wordless conversation.

The elder Holmes looks Sherlock over with a tense curiosity and some relief.

He hadn't been expecting the detective to bother coming in person.

Sherlock smirks, pleased to have proven him wrong. His alpha side would be please too if there was not currently another alpha he was itching to tear limb from limb.

"Stay back!" the large man shouts.

The brothers share one last glance before Mycroft elbows the center of his captor's chest while Sherlock makes up the distance in two long strides, and knocks the alpha unconscious.

Mycroft stumbles away from the limp body, pulling the blindfold free from his head…. But just as he begins to steady himself, his feet leave the floor.

* * *

The thick cloth repeatedly being draped over his shoulders is strange. Why do they insist on a blanket? He's not cold.

Sherlock seems to catch on and sighs, "I have been told it's for the shock."

"I'm fine."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that. I seem to remember you being quite shocked as your family alpha carried you to safety."

The horror of it all. All those agents were now witnesses to their boss being carried bridal style by his younger brother. Each would have to be sworn to secrecy and all camera footage erased. In fact, he should be busy handling all that right now.

Instead, however, he's sitting in the back of an ambulance with Sherlock and heading for a secure hospital to get looked over.

"My legs are perfectly functional and there was nothing to indicate otherwise, brother mine." Mycroft says, trying to cover up his embarrassment with disappointment.

"Maybe it was an act of generosity? Given we both know how much you appall legwork…"

The younger Holmes's smirk fades into a tight frown and it's clear their conversation is about to take a similar shift.

Pity… Mycroft was enjoying the banter. Banter is familiar. Comfortable, in some twisted sense of the word.

He's not sure how to react or feel about his notoriously irresponsible brother finally beginning to step into the role of a family alpha. It's left the government official somewhat blindsided to Sherlock's current thought process.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the detective asks, pain clear in his eyes and…

…It leaves Mycroft with a bad taste in his mouth and a knot in his gut.

"The family has been disillusioned with me since the events of Sherringfold. For months no one, not mummy or daddy or even you, had sought me out for anything more than gaining access to Eurus." The elder Holmes sighs, "I refuse to return to our parents' good graces through pity."

The brothers had begun to speak more frequently over the last couple weeks due to Mycroft babysitting Rosamund. Their interactions are no longer only about scheduling trips to visit Eurus. A small yet appreciated improvement.

Their parents, however, have grown distant to their eldest child. Especially mummy, who was not above voicing her displeasure every time she called to demand time with her daughter.

They cannot comprehend Mycroft's choices, which makes them unable and unwilling to forgive.

Pity could bridge that gap, but Mycroft would rather be seen a cold politician making the hard decisions than a helpless/limited omega in their eyes.

Sherlock seems to contemplate the elder Holmes's reply, folding his arms over his chest and letting his eyes wander. He continues on this way until the vehicle stops and the driver announces their arrival.

"This is completely unnecessary." Mycroft grumbles, refusing any help as he steps out of the ambulance. "I was too valuable to harm."

An agent and a nurse come offering a wheelchair. The auburn ignores it to instead watch his brother hop down to his level.

Sherlock growls, "They could have been drugging your food and water, you could be malnourished, or they might have used a dirty needle for the blood test. We are not taking chances with yours and the baby's health. Now, sit down or I carry you inside!"

With that well received threat, Mycroft grudgingly does as he's told.

* * *

He does not know whether to call it an invasion or a comfort when Sherlock refuses to leave Mycroft unattended in his own home for the duration of his pregnancy.

It makes sense for security. There are a few loose ends wandering about, knowledgeable of a certain high ranking government official, and currently being hunted down.

As such, each night the gest room is either occupied by John and Rosamund or Sherlock himself. Occasionally, all three would be over and the younger Holmes would take the couch. It's to the point that they live here just as much as they do back in 221b.

Today, they might just be a comfort.

The frequent bouts of nausea become somewhat tolerable when you have a doctor on hand.

"Why ever do they call it morning sickness?" Mycroft says, exiting the bathroom for the third time that evening. "I would love for this to be confined to a specific timeframe."

Watson is standing there with a pill meant to settle his stomach and a glass of water. The omega accepts them eagerly.

"I've had patients say that the symptoms are worse earlier in the day." John offers with a shrug.

Mycroft finishes off the water and places the cup on the coffee table as he settles down into a soft chair with a sigh. His hands move to rest on his now visible baby bump (which unfortunately, has been impeding on his preference to wear vests).

A soft beep sounds throughout the house in response to the front door opening.

Sherlock strides in with Rosie in his arms. The two had gone to the park to allow the toddler to expend some pent up energy. If Mycroft hadn't been fighting nausea all day, he'd have liked to go with them. Sit on a bench outside and simply watch.

The younger Holmes hands off the little girl to her father. A weary look in his eyes does not go unnoticed by the other two men as he does so.

Before they can question it, the detective explains, "Mummy called."

A collective sigh follows the statement.

Mycroft had been ignoring her calls for quite some time now. He would only reply with short and concise words/phrases through texts, which led to her calling Sherlock (or even John) on occasion to relay her messages.

Watson could understand the omega's aversion once the family discussion after Sherringfold was described to him. So, all three easily agreed to keep silent on Mycroft's condition.

"For Eurus?" the elder Holmes asks.

"No." Sherlock answers, making himself comfortable on the couch. "They wants us over for Christmas. The invitation extends to you as well, John."

Everyone is silent for a minute or two as they process the consequences of the two obvious choices. Well, with the exception of Rosie. She's dozed off and is snoring lightly on her father's shoulder.

"They're going to find out sooner or later." Mycroft laments, breaking the silence. "Quite possibly sooner if I turn down Christmas."

In response to John's confused glance, Sherlock clarifies, "She will show up to speak to him in person if he keeps avoiding her. In fact, I'm surprised she has not done so already."

"There's no avoiding the inevitable. If I agree to join them for the holiday, I'll have a set date and can plan accordingly, instead of being caught unawares." The auburn says, "I would appreciate it if…."

His voice trails off and he appears to be at a loss of how to finish that thought. His brother, however, seems to know exactly how to reply.

"You won't be facing them alone… And I promise to be more vocal in your defense than I have shown to be in the past."

An old, familiar warmth blossoms within Mycroft's chest. A feeling he has not experienced since himself and Sherlock were children.

The smile on his lips is involuntary and genuine.

"If the two of you are going, so are we. I refuse to deny Rosie her first Christmas with both her uncles." John states, "But you have to promise me that you will be surprised by whatever gifts she gives you. Even if you can guess what they are before hand."

All three adults laugh softly, and the stress of meeting up with Mr and Mrs Holmes is forgotten.

* * *

Notes: That's all I had planned to write. Though, I might write and epilogue or something to better wrap this story up later.


End file.
